


good combination

by orphan_account



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4815749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five times eiji and shuuichirou don't say something (and the one time they say the thing that they've known for a while)</p>
            </blockquote>





	good combination

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nobetterpicture](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobetterpicture/gifts).



> happy birthday, samy ~

**1\. touch, trial 1**

They’re somehow always touching each other.

It used to be a problem, when Eiji didn’t know how to share the court and when Shuuichirou didn’t know about Eiji at all. It used to be awkward, elbows bumping and shoulders catching, but now he doesn’t think anything of it—Shuuichirou is fine, he’s fine, even when Eiji’s hand brushes against his. Entirely by accident.

The tennis court is a big place.

Shuuichirou always watches Eiji’s back, when he’s doing those impossible flips and mid-air twists, landing back on his feet like a cat. He looks as satisfied as one, too, and when Shuuichirou grabs him after winning another match, the touch is electric. 

Jolted, Shuuichirou lets go immediately—and Eiji has to cock his head, curious and wide-eyed, exhilaration still running raw in his veins. “Hey—” and the realization of _my partner, my partner_ is an undercurrent that, for some time now, has gone far beyond the court.

But the idea of kissing him to seal their victory is an embarrassing one. Shuuichirou shakes his head and offers him his hand again, to walk off the court together. 

 

 

 

**2\. the indirect kiss**

In an entire group of junior high athletes, food is a rare resource. Taka-san is set to eat his fifth sushi roll already as Echizen tries to eat quietly, sitting between Kaidoh and Momoshiro. Fuji makes a sly joke about Echizen’s expression, growing less and less serene as Momoshiro jostles Kaidoh under the table, crushing their underclassman in between as they start snarling in each other’s faces.

Eiji laughs, and closes his eyes while he tips his face back. It’s a sweet kind of noise, bright and loud and boisterous—it’s a sound that warms anyone who hears it, Fuji’s sparkling laughter mingling with his as he takes deep breaths and keeps laughing. 

His shoulders shake while he keeps giggling to himself, Fuji lightly pink in the face as he reaches for a glass of water. Eiji does the same, but reaches for Shuuichirou’s by mistake.

It’s an easy one to make, when they’re sitting next to each other and Eiji’s laughter transfers to Shuuichirou, side-by-side, his kneecap pressed to Eiji’s leg.

“Ah, wait—” 

Eiji freezes, lips already pressed to the cup. It’s the exact same spot where Shuuichirou’s had his mouth earlier, and something in him dies a little when he sees Eiji visibly realize what he’s done. His laughter’s died in his throat, too, and it works as he just swallows and doesn’t drink, gripping Shuuichirou’s cup.

“Ah, my mistake, my mistake,” he manages. “But it’s still water, right?” Eiji drinks anyway, and nobody else seems to notice what he’s done at all, nobody but Shuuichirou who’s slowly turning red under the collar of his shirt. “Sorry,” Eiji winks, and sets the cup down hurriedly. “I’ll be more careful, next time!” 

And he turns back to talk, body still pressed up next to Shuuichirou. Tezuka asks him a question, blissfully polite and regular, and when Inui’s eyes light up behind his glasses, Shuuichirou talks, and talks.

When he reaches for his water again, he pointedly doesn’t look at the cup.

 

 

 

**3\. touch, trial 2**

Eiji always stretches before a match. He plops himself down at the edge of the court, mere feet away from the painted lines dividing their battlefield from the rest of the world, and he just stretches, folding himself in half and exhaling.

It used to be unnerving, almost, how Eiji could do that without a second thought. Miraculous, but altogether fascinating—it explains his acrobatic style, after all, his inherent flexibility. “Help me,” Eiji frowns, and when he whines his name, Shuuichirou has to laugh and indulge his partner. It’d be cruel, he reasons, not to.

Shuuichirou braces his hands against Eiji’s shoulders and pushes, force gentle and even. “Mm,” Eiji mumbles, “You can push a little more.” Where Shuuichirou would stop, Eiji just pulls himself toward his feet further, fingertips shooting past the treads of his shoes. “Just stay there,” he says, voice muffled, and Shuuichirou does.

Eiji is never awkward around Shuuichirou at all, and Shuuichirou feels at ease the most when he’s with him. “I’ll sit on you if you stay like this,” he says teasingly, and Eiji’s head pops up.

“No! Let’s play!” And he shoots up, energy already seeping out—it’s really infectious—and Shuuichirou can’t stop smiling. “Come on, come on!”

The tennis court is still a big place.

But they’re growing into it now as third years. Eiji’s reach is better than ever and Shuuichirou’s tennis foundation is stronger, their combined efforts becoming recognizable. A brand: _Golden Pair_.

They practice together, sweat together, win together and lose together. Victory is better when he wins with Eiji, and Shuuichirou’s losses are halved, the burden divided neatly in two.

And it’s fun. It’s so much more fun with Eiji. 

He should, Shuuichirou thinks, fuzzy tennis ball soft in his palm, tell him that. Maybe. One day. 

 

 

 

**4\. gift**

“Ah, can I come over?”

On the weekends, they see each other anyway. They study together sometimes—when Eiji chooses to focus on his homework and Shuuichirou can cajole him into finishing it—and tennis in the evenings. 

But Eiji’s been gone all day, and just texts back happy faces when Shuuichirou asks after his day. 

When he calls and Shuuichirou answers, the little tensions he’d gathered throughout the day dissolve at the sound of Eiji’s voice.

“Of course,” he answers instead. “See you soon?”

“See you soon!” Eiji’s voice almost sounds like his post-game catchphrase, cheerful and lilting on the _see you_. Shuuichirou puts his phone in his pocket and casts an eye around his room.

It looks as same as yesterday. As same as Eiji would see, too, since he was here yesterday and hadn’t gone home until dinnertime. He’s curious about Eiji’s day, what he’s been doing, and decides to see the setting sun and take in some air.

Halfway between his house and Eiji’s, Shuuichirou stops.

“Ah—” Eiji tilts his head out of habit, face brightening. “I said I’d go over to your house!” he chides, and Shuuichirou pivots on his heel as they walk back, footsteps matched in easy rhythm.

“I was curious,” he replies, and eyes the little plastic bag hanging from Eiji’s wrist. “You’re not this cagey unless there’s something you want to hide.”

Eiji laughs, but it’s a little strained. “Come on,” he giggles, the noise still warming Shuuichirou despite his suspicious behavior, “I need a reason to see—” he digs an elbow into Shuuichirou’s shoulder, “My partner?”

“Cough it up,” Shuuichirou says immediately, imitating Tezuka and even pushing up nonexistent glasses. “I won’t let my guard down! What did you _do_ today—”

“Okay, okay, okay!” And Eiji laughs again, laughs and makes that sound that Shuuichirou loves the hear. He fishes from the bag a round object that Shuuichirou recognizes immediately: a small plastic tennis ball, for fish tanks.

“Eiji,” he breathes, wide-eyed. He accepts the present with both hands, palms cupped around it easily. It’s strange, to have something his eyes recognize so easily feel so differently in his hands. “What’s this for?”

“Dunno,” Eiji shrugs. “I just saw it and thought of you.” A smile spreads from the corners of his mouth, dipping catlike at the edges and stretching up to crinkle around his eyes. “That’s all.”

That’s a gift, too, how Eiji smiles so easily, carelessly. It never fails to make Shuuichirou feel the same way. “Let’s go home,” he suggests, and tugs him home by the sleeve. “And play a video game.”

“And tennis?” Eiji asks, feet already following.

“Of course,” and Shuuichirou doesn’t hide his smile at all, turns to look at his partner. “Of course, that too.”

 

 

 

**5\. confession, or something**

“Play tennis with me all the time,” Eiji blurts out, and _oh_ , that’s not what he meant.

Shuuichirou has a funny look on his face. Eiji’s burning scarlet, and sweat drips from his chin.

They might not play tennis together again. The idea scorches Eiji at its worst, the idea of stepping onto the court alone. He could go back to being a singles player, but it wouldn’t be fun anymore, not without him.

It keeps him up at night. That’s a real nightmare: it’s not losing, it’s never playing tennis with _him_ again. Summer vacation means that the second half of their season is fast-approaching; it’ll be their last chance at nationals, their last chance to play as the Golden Pair, Seigaku’s miracle doubles team. The panic bleeds into Eiji the way it never seems to for Shuuichirou, and he just wants to rest easy, in knowing. 

“I’ll always,” Shuuichirou finally says, “Play tennis with you.”

“Just me?” Eiji adds, and hopes his eyes aren’t suspiciously bright.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“We are,” Shuuichirou laughs, and Eiji’s tension crumbles. “Seigaku’s Golden Pair.” He offers him his hand as they walk off the court. “Come on, partner.”

 

 

 

**6\. confirmation**

At the end of it, it’s just he and Eiji all over again, alone with only the setting sun as witness.

“I—” Eiji is rarely so hesitant. “I like you,” he mumbles, and a blush rises on his face. “I like you a lot.”

Shuuichirou could ask if he means it the way they usually do. _As partners?_ but it’s painfully obvious what he means, how Eiji shuffles and fidgets and Shuuichirou can’t stand it, how Eiji is so anxious over something he can fix.

“And I,” he says, taking little steps toward Eiji, until he can practically press his nose to his. “Like you too.”

Eiji’s delight is palpable, every fiber in him crackling alive as he shouts, half-deafening Shuuichirou. He throws his arms around his neck—and it’s a good feeling—so Shuuichi stays perfectly still, keeps a hand on Eiji’s waist to dissuade him from leaving.

As if he ever could.

“Let’s go home,” he offers. 

“Can we play a game?” Eiji perks up even more at the idea, but Shuuichirou has to, regretfully, shut him down. They walk down the road, pressed against each other, and Eiji radiates warmth.

“Homework,” Shuuichirou reminds him, and Eiji slumps down his head on his shoulder. It’s remarkably the same action as it was an hour ago, and yesterday, and last year—but it feels better, with the seeming promise of another in his near future. “And maybe a game of tennis.”

“Yay! You’re the best!” Eiji chirps, and his smile turns wicked-bright and sweet. “I love you,” he adds, and watches the delighted blush rise on Shuuichirou’s face, for a change. 

That’s maybe what he’s wanted to hear all along.


End file.
